


We need a new waffle iron...

by ALzzza



Series: Heart of the Home [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is all knowing, Bat Brothers, Bruce Wayne is So Done, But with love, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Good Big Brother Dick Grayson, I did another one because I can't help myself, I don't know, I don't make the facts people, Jason is a shit, Tim Drake Needs to Sleep, Tim is always sleep deprived, i might make this a series, just like, lol, the batfam starting in the kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALzzza/pseuds/ALzzza
Summary: “—Tim. The kitchen's onfire."Some days Dick is the best big brother he can be, stopping conflicts like a pro, listening to everyone’s woes. Others, he just wants to sit back and enjoy the show.Or, The Boys Have Some Bro Time And Bruce Is Super Done





	We need a new waffle iron...

**Author's Note:**

> I literally just wrote this because it was fun writing the other one, so yeah! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Yo, Dickhead! You want some waffles?” Jason asks, banging around in the kitchen for the right ingredients.

 

Dick looks up from where he’s curled around his bowl of cereal, gaze following along as Jason moves. Says half around his spoon, “No thwanks.”

 

Jason quirks an eyebrow back at him, says as he measures the flour, “You sure? ‘Cause if you steal my waffles now, I think I might actually shoot you.”

 

Tim walks in looking like he’s just got off a three day bender with his computer and about half a gallon of coffee. “Waffles? Who’s making waffles?” He peers at Jason, says already leaning over the counter, “Ooo, can I have some?”

 

“No. Make your own, Replacement.”

 

“Aw what?” Tim whines, “You were just going to share with Dick.”

 

“Yeah and now I’m just _not_ going to share with you.” Jason mocks, stirring something together as he waits for the waffle iron to heat up.

 

Dick snorts from his place at the table, finally answers Jason’s question, “I’m sure. Besides, it’s 12am. Who eats waffles at 12am?”

 

Jason scoffs loudly, “Says the guy eating _fruit loops_.”

 

Meanwhile Tim is looking at him like he’s grown an extra head. “Uh Dick. Literally us _all the time_.” Dick just shrugs like _yeah, okay_ causing Tim to face palm.

 

He mumbles sullenly into his hand, “I can’t believe I have to put up with you.”

 

Jason hums from where he’s measuring out his mix. “Amen, brother.”

 

Poor Tim just sighs noisily, head dropping down onto the counter with a loud thump. Voice muffled, “I hate everyone.”

 

“Aww Timmy,” Dick cooed, “When’s the last time you slept buddy?”

 

Tim groans, asks exasperated, “ _Why_ does everyone _always_ ask me that?”

 

“Because your average answer is literally three days.” Jason supplies helpfully. Tim makes a rude gesture at his back, not moving his face away from the counter.

 

Jason’s just putting the waffle iron down when Bruce walks in because apparently no one in this family sleeps. “Jason, can I talk to you for a second?” It’s phrased as a polite question, but no one’s really fooled.

 

Still Jason narrows his eyes, “Is this about the thing with Roy? Because if so than I stand by what I did and have nothing to talk about.” He waved the spoon he was holding at Bruce threateningly, waffle batter flying everywhere.

 

Dick and Tim perk up, clearing anticipating whatever Jason has done wrong, but Bruce just sighs—pinching the bridges of his nose, looking done with this conversation before its even started. “ _Jason_.”

 

“Fine, fine,” He put the spoon down with a clatter, says to Tim as he makes his way to the door, “Timmy, I’ll give you half the waffles if you watch them while I’m gone!”

 

Tim still doesn’t look up but mumbles his assent as Jason walks out the door. Several minutes pass in silence and Dick watches as Tim starts to doze slummed over the counter.

 

Then, “Tim?”

 

“T-im?”

 

“Timm- _y_.”

 

“Tiiiii _m_.”

 

“Bay-bee Bi-ir _d_ , the waffles are b _u_ rn _ing_.”

 

“ _Shit_!” Tim yells, jumping up—he tries to push his chair out so he can move but it gets stuck to the floor sending him careening back into the table as he faceplants. “ _Ow_.” Dick for his part is just giggling from his spot at the table, not bothered by the rapidly growing smoke billowing from the waffle maker.

 

“Dick, _you asshole_.” Tim gets up, rounding into the kitchen but not before pushing Dick rather roughly—he just laughs _louder._ “Oh shit.” Tim stands in front of the burning waffle iron, hand in his hair looking rather stressed. “Oh _shit_. Jason’s going to _kill me._ ” Dick feels like mentioning at least they’d die fighting over a _shared_ interest but doesn’t think it’d be appreciated. Just observes as Tim drags his hands down his face watching the waffle iron start to flame before abruptly turning it off and chucking it in the sink. Turning away from it like it’s just killed all his hopes and dreams. He makes his way over to his place at the counter, slowly lowering his head back down as Dick watches him before saying—voice muted, “This is _terrible_.”

 

Dick hops up, walking over—thinks Tim is mostly overreacting, _besides_ , it’s not like Dick would _let_ Jason kill him. He pets Tim’s hair reassuringly, “There, there Tim. I’m sure he’ll only try to shoot you a little bit.”

 

Tim sighs glumly, “I hate you.” Then just as Dick was starting to think he’d fallen asleep _again_ , “Now we don’t even have _waffles_.” He sounds so utterly heartbroken at the idea, Dick kind of wants to hug him but reframes because despite what some people think he _does_ have some self-preservation instincts, thanks.

 

It’s at this point that Jason and Bruce walk in, pausing at the door as they smell the smoke and _fire_ — _see_ the smoke, it’s rather hard to miss considering the room’s full of it—taking in the disaster that is now the manor’s kitchen. Jason glances towards Bruce, says seriously, “This is why I want to run away with Roy.” Bruce looks like he has _something_ to say about _that_ but doesn’t get a chance before Jason’s speaking again.

 

“Tim, you knob—” Dick looks towards Bruce, mouths ‘knob’ over their heads, amused but Bruce just shrugs, quirks a smile in response as he goes to sit down, obviously leaving them to deal with whatever this _is_ “—I gave you _one job_ and you still managed to fuck it up.”

 

Tim finally sits up, hand over his face like he can’t stand to look. “The waffles are _dead_.” He moans, looking about ready to cry. Jason panics comically for a second before walking over to pat Tim’s head roughly, looking quite uncomfortable with the whole affair. Dick starts laughing in the background, exclaiming, “ _Jason_!” like he can’t believe that just happened before dissolving into renewed laughter.

 

“It’s okay, Tim-Tam.” Jason reassures hesitantly, still patting Tim’s head mechanically, “I’m sure it was Dickheads fault anyway.” Tim nods in agreement even as Dick yelps.

 

“ _Hey_!”

 

Jason reassured Tim isn’t going to spontaneously burst into tears or something equally ridiculous, walks back into the kitchen; looks at the ruined waffle iron in silence for a while. Then says to no one, “We need a new waffle iron.”

 

Bruce sends him a _look_ from his place at the table, somehow having acquired a newspaper to read—doing a great impression of Unimpressed DadTM. “You could always _clean_ it.”

 

Jason sends him a look right back, scoffing. “You are literally a billionaire, old man. Buy _yourself_ a new waffle maker because I am _not_ spending time trying to clean that up.” He looks back at the sink with a grimace.

 

It’s at this point that the kitchen fire alarm goes off.

 

They all turn to stare up at it in suitably unimpressed silence—a thick layer of smoke still hanging in the kitchen, and for several minutes nothing is heard except the shrill _beep, beep, beep_ of the alarm going off. Dick can’t help but think this would make for a great family photo. If only Dami and Cass were here.

 

Finally, Bruce says, still frowning up at it, “The house could have been set on fire in the time that alarm took to go off.”

 

“So, what ya gonna do? Sue ‘em?” Jason comments flippantly, dragging a chair noisily across the floor to turn it off. He only gets half way there before Dick’s climbing up the furniture to turn it off himself. Jason shrugs; sits down on the chair where it’s ended up in the middle of the room.

 

Bruce’s eyes light up at the suggestion and it’s not long before the others notice. “Bruce, _no_. You can’t just _sue_ everyone! _Oh my god_.” Dick hops down from the ceiling, walking over smoothly to stand in front of Bruce.

 

“Yeah. Just like, by a new one.” Tim adds.

 

Bruce doesn’t look convinced, “Their product didn’t work properly.”

 

Dick throws his hands up dramatically, “Bruce no, _please_. I can’t stand the press when you take someone to court! They’re _vultures_! They camped out at work for _weeks_ , I can’t do that _again_!” Tim nods in silent agreement across the room, head still buried in his hands.

 

“Damian almost killed a man.”

 

Dick looks to him, face lighting up concerningly fast given Tim just mentioned _attempted murder_ , “Yes, exactly! You can’t sue them, that’s practically condoning the murder of some poor unsuspecting journalist.”

 

Jason for his part has just been watching the scene play out from his perch in the middle of the room, head moving back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match and not his family discussing court cases, attempted murder and other such things. He looks at them like they’re crazy for a long moment then mumbles, “Weren’t you _just_ calling them vultures.”

 

Dick ignores him. “Please, Bruce.” Then when he doesn’t look very convinced adds, “Why don’t you just get Wayne Tech to make some fancy ones?”

 

Bruce seems to like the idea, comments after a long grudging silence, “ _Fine_. I won’t sue them.”

 

Dick is just finishing his happy dance when Jason stands up abruptly, chair flying backwards. “I’m gonna make the waffle batter into pancakes."

 

Tim looks up, seemingly recovered completely from whatever grief-stricken sadness he’d developed over the waffles. “You can do that?”

 

“ _Duh_.”

 

Tim doesn’t look convinced, asks, “How do _you_ know how to do that?”

 

“Alfred taught me.” Tim looks properly reassured—perking up, but Dick’s not so certain Jason wouldn’t just tell them that to get them off his back. Either way, Jason turns the frypan on.

 

They sit for a while, watching along as he messes with the batter. Dick doesn’t _think_ he’d add poison to food under guise of Alfred’s cooking but watches carefully anyway.

 

Some point between the first and third pancake being cooked Tim asks, “Does this mean I can have some?”

 

“Nope.” Jason pops the P as he leisurely flips another pancake.

 

Tim makes a face at his back, “But you were going to give me waffles!”

 

“Yeah, and then you went and _killed_ ‘em.” He snorts, before saying seriously, “I stand by what I said, Replacement. _Make your own_.”

 

Tim grumbles something to low to hear then says, “You were making them! If you were a _responsible_ waffle maker, you wouldn’t have even _agreed_ to leave them in the same room as Dick!”

 

Dick yelps at his accuser, “You _agreed_ to watch them! How is this _my_ fault.”

 

Jason scoffs. “You’re the oldest. Everything after like, 19 _20_ is your fault.”

 

Dick stands there, looking amused now. Asking, “Just how _old_ do you think I _am_?”

 

Jason pulls a deliberately shocked face down at his pancakes, “You’re saying you _weren’t_ born in the 20’s.” He drops his head back, looking towards the ceiling dramatically, “ _My whole life has been a_ **_lie_**.” Tim can’t seem to help it, giggles quietly into his hand even as Bruce sighs quite loudly behind them.

 

Dick is smiling now too, looking towards Jason before saying agreeably, “Whatever you say, Little Wing.”

 

“Sooo,” Tim starts, “Can I have some—”

 

“No.”

 

“But—”

 

“ _Shut up_ , Replacement.”

 

“ _But_ —”

 

“ _No_.”

 

Tim sits in sullen silence watching as Jason finishes, walking to the table with his all together impressive stack of pancakes. He sits quite happily, about to tuck into his food then—

 

Dick swoops in, stealing half Jay’s pancakes easily, sits as far away from Jason as he can before splitting them again with Tim—who looks about ready to fly around the room at the prospect, smiling up at Dick with a million-watt little smile.

 

Jason glares at him from across the room, only pausing to share a look with Tim when Dick pours an _obscene_ amount of syrup on his pancakes.

 

“I thought you didn’t _want_ any, asshole.”

 

Dick looks up innocently and quite a bit smug, says around his fork, “These aren’t _waffles_.” Which just causes Tim to let out _another_ stream of grumbles.

 

They end up in one of the sitting rooms, Bruce managing to relocate with his newspaper somehow even though Dick _definitely_ remembers him leaving it on the table.

 

Tim trips coming through the doorway and Bruce looks up, concerned. “Tim. When’s the last time you slept?”

 

Tim falls into a chair, mumbles irritably at his feet, “Jokes on you guys, I don’t even know what day it is.”

 

Bruce heaves a full body sigh even as Jason snorts a laugh, elbowing Dick in the ribs.

 

“Ow. _Bruce_ , Jason hit me!”

 

“Oh, _grow up_. That was a love tap.”

 

Bruce looks at the ceiling, speaks quietly to no one in particular, “I swear my children are adults.”

 

Tim snorts, mutters beside him, “You _wish_ your children were adults.”

 

Jason looks up from where he _may_ have been planning Dick’s murder, to say, “Aw, B. That’s cute. Damian’s like, _six_.”

 

Beside him Dick corrects, seemingly automatic, “He’s ten.” Then pauses, because is he really correcting the kids age for him now?

 

Tim and Jason must think the same thing, because they stop to stare at him in betrayal. It’s kind of adorable. “ _Wooow_ , you’re seriously spending too much time with the demon spawn. _Correcting his age_ —what’s _next_ , _tt_ -ing!”

 

Dick looks at them both, freakishly charmed at their united front (even if it’s just untied against their little brother— _progress_.) “Aw, come off it Jay. You know he’s your guys favorite demon spawn.”

 

Jason makes a face while Tim says lowly, “Thankfully, I’m yet to meet another.” Looking like he’s going to fear for his life every day that might happen. Dick just starts laughing at them both; because it’s really fucking _cute._

 

They share another look, like maybe they should be throwing _Dick_ in the loony bin—and Dick, can’t help it, laughs _louder_. They don’t help matters when they share identical looks of _what have we been born into?_ then look to _Bruce_.

 

It’s about when Bruce let’s out a low chuckle of his own that Jason jumps off the couch like it’s about to _attack_ him. “That’s it,” Jason exclaims abruptly, “I’m disowning myself from this family. I’m officially an orphan.”

 

“Ah Jay, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Dick says just as Tim speaks up, “Technically you _are_ an orphan.”

 

“Technically I’m _dead_.” Jason adds before dropping back onto the couch, sprawling out dramatically hand to his heart. “I can’t believe that’s all I’m worth to you, Timbo! Do the adoption papers mean _nothing_? Orphaned for three seconds and already handling such _abuse_!” He turns smoothly, shifting around to stare up at Bruce. “B how do you _stand_ it, this is _awful_!”

 

Bruce looks up at him, face blank. Answers in a dry voice, “The pain is too much, I’m going to run away to Metropolis.”

 

Dick snorts, muffling a laugh into his hand. Jason for his part just nods solemnly, “Great idea, I should run away to Tamaran with Kori and Roy.” Bruce quirks an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t dispute Jason’s claim.

 

Tim makes a face, “Good luck with that. How are you going to be an asshole to all of us? You’d die from lack of conflict.”

 

Jason turns towards him, smirk in place. “What’s this Timmy.” He pauses for affect, “Might you, oh I don’t know, actually _miss_ me?”

 

Tim glares from his spot at the loveseat. “Why would I miss your sorry excuse for a human being, in fact go ahead—dying from lack of conflict isn’t the worst way to go. You can’t even make _waffles_.”

 

“Tim.” Dick admonishes at the same time Jason breaks out with an emphasized, “That was _your fault_ , Replacement! And what would you know about worst ways to go! I’ve _died_ , it was all very _traumatic_.”

 

“ _Jason_.”

 

“Oh, go eat your toy sticks, Dickhead.”

 

Dick huffs, “They’re _eskrima sticks_ —they are a _perfectly acceptable_ weapon—”

 

He continues to rant even as Jason mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “Yeah, perfectly acceptable to shove up your _ass_.” Which only causes Tim to splutter out a loud laugh, falling half off his chair.

 

Alfred peers in, takes in the state of the room and looks towards where Bruce is sitting—having resumed reading his newspaper. “Things are in order I presume?”

 

Bruce glances up with a sarcastic look on his face, says, “Jason has disowned himself from the family and is to run away with Kori and Roy to an alien planet, Tim may have experienced an emotional break down over _breakfast foods_ , Dick might still have been dosed with laughing gas, we need a new waffle iron.” Pauses to recap in his head, then adds, “And I don’t even know where Damian _is_.”

 

Alfred just quirks an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he places a tray of sandwiches on the side table with a click, no mind it’s actually _three in the morning_. “Indeed? I expect Master Damian has escaped with Mister Jon, sir.” Bruce grimaces at the news. They look to where the boys are; Jason and Dick looking about ready to come to physical blows—before looking back at each other. “Well,” Alfred continues evenly—raising one delicate eyebrow at Bruce, “It seems everything is perfectly _usual_ then, Master Bruce.”

 

Bruce huffs a laugh, looks back at them—watches as Tim seems to bait them on with much success, Jason stepping on a ten-thousand-dollar coffee table to get closer to Dick, swinging his hands concerningly at his side.

 

“Yes. It seems it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. That. 
> 
> I want to write Duke Thomas in my next one but have no idea how--so please help me! Really, I need tips people! Comments literally fuel me, so don't forget to do that! ;)


End file.
